


Rainy Day Vignette

by ktbl



Series: Paper Rings [4]
Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Because I Felt Like It Okay, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Pregnancy, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26477662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: “What the hell are you doing back early?”“Missed you too, sweetheart.” Johnny Cage stands dripping in the entryway. He looks like he walked home in the rain, fabric sticking to his skin, duffle bag over his shoulder spattered dark. He steps in and drops the bag. It hits the floor with a disturbingly moist sound.“You’re soaked.” She steps back, turns, and comes back with a pair of towels. He’s already shirtless and stepping out of his suit pants. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, despite the rain, because he’s Johnny fucking Cage and a pain in her ass and he will probably die in those stupid things. She hides her smile. “Towel. Before you drip everywhere.”---In Which Sonya's Beach Day Goes Horribly Awry
Relationships: Sonya Blade/Johnny Cage
Series: Paper Rings [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727047
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	Rainy Day Vignette

Today is not going to be the beach day she had been hoping for.

Sonya stretches out, groggy and uncomfortable. She doesn’t have to open her eyes to know her day’s plans are wrecked - she can hear the rain hammering the windows. She’d wanted to take advantage of the fact that they hadn’t moved on base yet, go sit on the sand and bask in the sun, even with the cooling water temperatures. It’s about the only thing she can do these days: sparring is right out, and she’s at the point that even visiting the gun range isn’t quite viable. Only a few more weeks until the beach is a drive for them, no longer a walk across the road.

 _They. Them._ The words are still rough-edged and poke at her. Out of the two months she and Johnny have been almost-not-quite-living-together, he’s been gone for three weeks, filming overseas. Somehow she misses him.

The idea is seriously fucking uncomfortable.

She slides out of the bed, crossing the soft carpeting to stand at the window, looking out at the blue-black sky. She spreads a hand on the swell of her stomach. There’s yet another kick from the inhabitant, and Sonya pokes back irritably. It’s been incessant and she’d give anything for a ten-minute reprieve, something to distract her from the jostling and fluttering and punches and kicks.

“You’re going to have a yard,” she tells her stomach, “and if I still wasn’t sure we’ll manage to keep _you_ alive, I’d think about a dog or something. It’s a miracle your father kept himself alive this long. I don’t want to push my luck.”

There’s an indignant pair of kicks in response. Sonya rolls her eyes - it’s _definitely_ a Cage - and readies herself for the day, beginning with the limited morning exercise she’s allowed to do. Nothing near her usual levels, but it will have to do until she’s freed up again in several more months to go back to her more strenuous preference. A shower and breakfast follow, and she’s settled down in front of her computer, pouring through the administrative side of her work. It may be a Saturday, but there’s little else on offer. Maybe she can get ahead of the work and wrangle a half day’s leave when Johnny gets back, spend a little time with him without having to fight rush-hour traffic to get back to the condo.

Her fingers are curled around a cup of decaf coffee (a misery and punishment in and of itself) and she’s in the middle of reading through new reports when the door opens. She’s out of her chair and on her feet in a breath - slower than she would have liked - and her eyes are on the wet figure in the doorframe.

“What the hell are _you_ doing back early?”

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” Johnny Cage stands dripping in the entryway. He looks like he walked home in the rain, fabric sticking to his skin, duffle bag over his shoulder spattered dark. He steps in and drops the bag. It hits the floor with a disturbingly moist sound.

“You’re soaked.” She steps back, turns, and comes back with a pair of towels. He’s already shirtless and stepping out of his suit pants. He’s still wearing his sunglasses, despite the rain, because he’s Johnny fucking Cage and a pain in her ass and he will probably die in those stupid things. She hides her smile. “Towel. Before you drip everywhere.”

“You got gigantic.” He stops and stares at her, tilting his sunglasses down. “Are you sure it’s not twins?”

“I’m sure.” There’s a twinge she tries to hide, and crosses her arms and glares at him. “Fuck you too.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts. Her glower deepens. His shoulders drop. “Lighten up, babe. It’s been almost a month. I missed you, and-“

“Stop running your mouth.” She hands him one towel, which he wraps around his waist, and then she reaches up with the second to dry off his hair aggressively. “I wasn’t expecting you back for another couple of days.”

“We finished up early, though now I’m kind of wishing we hadn’t. Better weather there. Why are you so grouchy? Am I interrupting something?”

“Yeah, I keep a lover while you’re gone. I’ve got her hiding under the bed right now,” Sonya deadpans. Johnny pauses, tilts the sunglasses down again, and wiggles his eyebrows with exaggerated lasciviousness. Sonya pulls the sunglasses off his face and puts them aside, far more carefully than he ever does. “Idiot. Do you really think I have time for more than one relationship?”

“I’m still surprised you have time for this one,” he says as he takes the other towel and rubs off his chest and arms. He drops the towel along with the wet clothes on the floor, and steps in to embrace her. He pauses, looking down at the swell of her pregnancy. “I’m not gonna squish…?”

“Cage, you’re a piece of work, you know that?” Sonya snorts, and reaches up with her hand hold the side of his face. Stubble from at least one day of shaving is rough under her palm. His hand settles on her waist, fingers creeping under the edge of her shirt. When he brushes against her skin, her breath hitches and he makes a soft sound of victory, then drops his mouth to kiss her.

It’s long and slow and she gives herself up to it completely. His hands settle on the curve of her hips like they belong there. He tugs her towards him, as close as she can get until she’s bending in and pressing her body against his. He’s chilled, lips soft but not nearly as warm as they should be, his fingers cool against her skin. How far did he walk in the rain? She opens her mouth for him and he lets out a happy noise, one hand weaving through her hair as his tongue tangles with hers. It sends a little thrill through her body and she pushes up closer, finding she enjoys that contrast, the cool of him against her warmth. He smells good, like fresh air and rain, and when they come up for air he tips his forehead against hers.

“Missed me too, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” she allows, and then grunts as a foot kicks hard. Johnny blinks, dropping a hand to her belly.

“Someone’s jealous you’re getting all the attention. How is Mini-Me, anyway?” He spreads his hand out and pokes around. His prodding is met by an answering forceful movement. He grins stupidly at her, almost ecstatic.

“Seems not to approve of PDA. And it’s a pain in my ass, so definitely yours.”

“I missed a lot.” His voice is almost sad. “Also, I’m freezing.”

“Just my luck you get back early, in a storm. Fifty bucks says you’re going to get sick and I’ll be stuck with you home and sniffling,” she grumbles.

His fingers twist in the fabric of her shirt. “I can think of a couple ways to warm up.”

“Can you now.” Her lips twitch in a tiny smile, and he tugs on the shirt again, frowning slightly.

“Wait. Is this-“ he pauses and lets go, walking around her to look at the back of the shirt. “This is one of _mine_.” She’s caught out, and sighs. He’s beaming, and she tries to keep a collected - better yet, disdainful - look. “You’re wearing my clothes while I’m gone! You _did_ miss me!”

“It fit, and apparently my shirts don’t anymore.” She looks pointedly downwards. “So yeah. I raided your t-shirt collection. It’s not as if you wear them.”

Johnny has the effrontery to look wounded for thirty seconds - almost long enough for her to genuinely feel badly - before he winks. “You look better in it than I ever did.”

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes. “Go find something to wear while I deal with all of this. Go warm up.”

“I can do my own laundry.” He scoops up the clothes off the floor, along with the towels, before she can say anything else. “Go get back in bed, honey. Meet you there in five once I have this started.” He moves with ease down the hall towards the washer and dryer, and she leans back on the edge of the table to watch him saunter. He really does have a nice ass, and she’ll admire it as long as she knows he’s not looking.

“I’ve been out of bed for a while. Doing actual work. Well, as much as I can now that I’m riding a desk.” She can’t quite keep the resentment out of her voice.

“So get back _in_ bed,” he says pointedly. “I’ve just done real work for a month so I could come home and do my…” Her stomach tightens, or maybe it’s just a foot in her lungs. She hates this conversation, and it happens once a week - even via text while he was gone. He continues without tossing a look over his shoulder. “You decided what we are, yet? Are you my girlfriend, lover, roomie, partner, fianceé, baby mama…?”

The silence is telling. She takes another drink, the decaf bland on her tongue. Sounds like they’re going to have it again.

“Gotcha. So we’re still just people cohabitating.” His voice cools noticeably. “Maybe I should have stayed another couple of days.”

“Look, Johnny, this is just-“ She sets the mug down and walks up behind him. “I wasn’t looking for this.”

“So you never thought about the whole white dress, big wedding, white picket fence, kids thing? Never wanted to be June Cleaver?” He pulls a few things from the bag, and then dumps the rest of it into the washing machine. “Or is it just me you don’t want to do this with?”

“Fuck.” She sighs. “It’s not you, okay? When I was little, before my storybook life got shot to hell, I wanted it. I wanted the big dress and my dad to walk me down the aisle when I found The One, and a couple of kids, and a dog, and maybe if I was lucky we’d be on a ranch and I could have horses. Then when part of that got wiped out… when we didn’t even get his body back… the whole thing went rotten.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t find a guy in high school?”

“Jesus, Johnny.” She feels the annoyance coiling through her. “I was a hormonal teenager, same as everybody else. Except I already knew I wasn’t sticking around. No point in getting attached.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Then came the service, and then the tournament, and this, and none of it is what I planned. Every time I make plans, they get fucked. So no. It’s _not_ just you. You’re just the one who ended up in the middle of all of it with me.”

He’s silent, pouring soap and mashing buttons before he turns to face her. “Well, we’ve got to figure this out. I can’t keep calling you Sonya Blade the-woman-who’s-gonna-have-my-kid-and-we’re-just-living-together-and-screwing-like-rabbits. The woman I love,” and he says the word firmly, meeting her eyes. “And she can’t decide what this is.”

“Fucking complicated. Can we just keep calling it complicated?”

“No shit, Sherlock.” He reaches for her, pulls her close, and she lets him; she just wants this conversation to be over, and if she’s pliant enough he might let it go. “We’ve got an invite to brunch next Sunday with my family, and I’d like to have something to say more than ‘Hi Mom, Hi Dad, hey Becca, this is Sonya and she’s my its-complicated’.”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty sure my mother would kill me if I called you my fuck buddy, but I mean, we can use that if we want to. I’ll take being scolded by my mom like I’m six.”

“No!” She throws a halfhearted punch at him. “You can go, and I’ll just stay here.”

“Nope.” He catches her hand, and interlaces his fingers with hers. He gently tugs her down the hallway. “You’re like six, almost seven, months into this, babe. You’ve managed to dodge meeting my family every time it’s come up. I would really like it if the first time you meet them, you’re not running on exhaustion and covered in puke because of Mini-Me.” He lets go of her and drops backwards onto the bed, bouncing slightly, and going spread-eagled on the mattress. “I missed this bed. I missed this bed _so much_.”

“And nothing has changed.” She chuckles, shaking her head. One of his hands snakes out and pulls her towards him, and she goes more willingly than she would have liked to let on. He buries his face in her hair. She doesn’t know how long they spend tangled up together, each reacclimatizing to the other. He can easily enfold her in his arms, which is exactly what he does, letting her find the most comfortable position and then tucking himself against her until there’s barely room for air between them. He leeches warmth from her, exaggeratedly sticking cold fingers and toes behind her knees, in the crooks of her elbows, in her armpits and anywhere he can reach until he’s come to an equal temperature with her. He does not shut up the entire time. Somehow she realizes she’s missed this, too.

He waxes lyrical about the cheap hotel rooms so that they had budget to film in a historical part of the city, the geckos in the corners and how he’s certain he could hear the paint peeling off the walls, and the morning he woke up to find a spider the size of his hand on the wall next to his head. He pulls a dramatically horrified face and shudders, a full-body movement that makes her chuckle.

“I did miss you,” she admits into the brief moment of silence before he picks up his stories again. She is almost sure she can feel his heart skip when she says it, but his hands close around her more tightly instead, pull her further into the growing warmth of him. “Bed’s cold without you, and this place is too fucking quiet. And I hate the commute if you’re not around on one end of it.” She doesn’t know exactly why she’s admitted all that - it’s galling, but she strangely feels a little lighter after she’s said it. “I’ve just been on base most of the time, slowly bringing stuff up and storing it in my living room. Just came down for the beach.”

“Well, I’m back now. Stay down here for the week, babe? Give us time to catch up, I have a couple of days before we start filming on the set downtown. Or, I mean, I could go to work with you if that’d make you feel better.”

“Oh, hell no. I’m not that desperate - I need _some_ quiet.”

“Sorry, babe. Too much brilliance in this brain to keep it all to myself.”

“Brilliance. So that’s what we’re calling it now?”

“This body, these brains?” He raises both eyebrows, and pulls back with an over-exaggerated wounded look. “It’s my duty to share it with the world, hot stuff. Johnny Cage cannot be contained.”

“Kill me now. I take it back, go back and film more or whatever. There’s not room in this place for you and your ego.” She grins at him and he grins back and they share a laugh. Hers is achingly rusty - she doesn’t do it much, but he always ends up getting one out of her. He kisses her again. He’s warmer now, hands and mouth and the rest of him, and she tries to mold her body against his, get as much contact as she can. His hands slide up under the shirt, one tucking itself between her shoulder blades, the other at the small of her back. They kiss long and lazy, and he finally surrenders his attentions to her mouth, kissing his way down her throat, the hollow at its base, the lines of her collarbones. He shifts, tucking her head beneath his chin, and one of her hands weaves its way through his hair.

He spreads a hand out on her stomach. Once in a while he prods at it, trying to get a reaction. “I’ve got weeks of talking to this that I missed.”

“You’re not going to hold discussions with my stomach, Johnny.”

“Watch me.” His eyes light up, ready to take on the challenge. He adjusts his position and she releases her grasp on his hair. He settles his head down near the mound, and proceeds to go off for another five minutes. Sonya can’t bear to listen to it, feeling embarrassment well up inside her, because it’s a monologue about future plans, pony rides and acting classes, picking a martial art, trips to Fiji. He draws verbal pictures of his plans, the flights and the beaches and the school plays, Baby’s First Academy Awards when they’re old enough to go as his guest, a lakeside house he’s gone to a couple of times just outside the city that they can summer at, winters in Tahoe or going as far as Mama Bear’s leave will allow. She goes back to fiddling with his hair instead in an attempt to distract herself, because it all sounds too good to be true.

What disturbs her more than anything else is the complacency of the Inhabitant as he rambles. As if it enjoys Johnny running his mouth. Given that it’s the first time in days it’s relaxed this long, she’s willing to let him run his mouth as long as it keeps her insides in place. The idea crosses her mind that she could get used to this, followed by the one-two gut punch that she _is_ getting used to this, and that she _likes_ this more than a little. Her hand stills in his hair while she targets those two thoughts, analyzing them critically. Both utterly terrifying.

She does like this. She wants more of this, the lazy mornings and the job that’s a job, not her life. Cage came home early, instead of lounging around on a beach or a pool or earning that extra bit of cash for being on location longer. She shifts slightly, his voice relaxing background noise, as she sinks into her thoughts. It’s frighteningly easy to think of other rainy days like this, tangled up together, far in the future, or going along with some of those ideas he’s drawn up. She likes the idea of fishing off a pier, and it doesn’t matter if it’s the Maldives or Fiji or that lake he talks about. Doing things that she remembers doing with her father. She wants to keep some kind of family tradition.

Hell, she wants some kind of family.

It might not be white picket fences, no father to walk her down the aisle… But there is Jax, found family. Raiden and Fujin too, if she really wants some white-haired guys involved, but she’s her own woman and nobody is going to give her away. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d probably spring for everything, none of the bride-pays-the-bills bullshit, and if she wanted he might - though it might be a fight - just settle for paperwork at the base instead. Nothing fancy. Jax and Vera as witnesses, and be done with it.

She drags herself up out of her thoughts to find him staring at her.

“What’s wrong?” Worry is etched in his face. It’s a surprising look on him, one that doesn’t suit.

“Hmm?”

“You stopped the thing with my hair, and you’re letting me talk, and you’re kind of smiling, and it’s scaring the shit out of me.” He seems serious, his words in earnest. “Something wrong with the kiddo? Or something else?”

“Can I not do those things? Am I not allowed to smile?”

“Sonya, you sleep with a loaded gun in your nightstand and a knife under your pillow and a pair of high-tech gauntlets _on_ the nightstand. You smile when you’re thinking about killing people or tormenting your soldiers. And you never let me talk that long without there being something you’re planning. I’m wondering if you’re going to kill me and hide the body.”

“Nothing like that,” she says, unsure if she should laugh, can laugh. He’s serious enough that it’s concerning and funny at the same time. She weaves her fingers through his hair again, grasping it tightly between her finger and pulling him up for a brief kiss. “Just thinking.”

He sits up, and her hand drops away again. He pokes her lightly in the shoulder. “About who you’re going to open up next?”

“About…” Her mind stops her tongue from working, from uttering something she can’t take back - _that I could maybe marry you. That I can see this between us, in the future._ No, now is not the time for that. Her tongue continues under better counsel. “About the fact that I liked this. Like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Am I… am I _growing on you_ , LTC?”

“Like a tumor. Or a parasite.”

“That may be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. Hear that, Mini-Me? Your mom says I’m growing on her.” Johnny pushes up the tee shirt and runs his fingers over her, and there’s a violent movement in response. He grins, satisfied, and plants a kiss atop it.

“Ass.” Sonya pushes herself upright in the bed. “And the moment is gone. You’ve got to be exhausted. You should get some rest. I’ve got stuff to do. And jet lag is probably going to hit you soon, too.”

“Stay, babe.” He wraps his arms around her legs, holding her in place. “What were you going to do today, anyway?”

“Go to the beach. Just… relax and do nothing,” she admits, “before there’s no time to breathe.” He grins even more broadly, surprising her: she didn’t think it was possible.

“I’ve got some nothing you can do,” he says slyly. She raises an eyebrow, a matching smile spreading across her face. He blinks several times and then realization strikes him. “Shit, no, wait, wait, that’s not what I meant!”

“You said it, not me,” she chuckles, and her hand slides down to where the towel had been, long since lost. “I also wouldn’t generally consider this _nothing_.” She squeezes gently, and it draws a low, instinctive noise from him. “But since my plans got trashed, I suppose this is an adequate substitution.”

“Somehow I feel like I’m supposed to be insulted,” he muses, kissing the side of her neck, “but I’ll try to prove I’m more than adequate. I am, in fact, _exceptional_.”

He rolls them over and sits atop her, pinning her to the bed. He catches her hands with his and twists their fingers together. Something in her that is definitely _not_ the Inhabitant twists in pleased surprise, warmth coiling in her core. He looks far too pleased with himself. “Adequate substitution,” Johnny repeats with exaggerated annoyance. “I’m more than adequate. And I’m going to prove it.”

“Bring it, Mister Hollywood.”

“Consider it brought, Lieutenant Colonel.”

They spend hours - she doesn’t know how long it is, and it doesn’t really matter - rediscovering each other. Johnny catalogues every change since he’s been gone, taking advantage of the increasing sensitivity of her body in every way he can to drive her wild. There’s still enough pleasure in discovering the details of a new lover that it’s exhilarating, and it contrasts with the surprising comfort of the slowly growing familiarity between them. Coming back to something reliable is good, when the rest of her world has been busy changing. He likes it when she’s vocal, and she - well. Much to her surprise and dismay, she likes just about everything he does to her, and her body announces it at every opportunity.

When they’re sated on each other - for a time, at least - he brushes sweat-stuck hair from her temples. Her fingers indolently trace the tattoo of his name on his chest.

“Sorry you missed beach day, babe.”

“I’ll survive.” She stretches out, wriggling her toes. “Not a bad trade-off, all things considered.” The rain still pours downward, showing no signs of stopping, and she pulls the duvet up to her chin.

“I could do this again, y’know.” He yawns, dropping down below the blankets, even though it isn’t even noon yet. The time change must be hammering him hard.

“Me, too.” Another admission that surprises her as she says it, and he lets out a chuckle.

“Good. Because I meant it when I was talking about Fiji and beaches and all that other stuff. I want to do it with you and Cage two-point-oh.” His voice is tired, punctuated with yawns. One arm drops over her, hauls her back into his chest as he buries his face in her hair, between her shoulder blades. He noses through her unkempt braid to find her back, kissing the skin he can reach. “Gonna wait, and ask you, and you’re going to say _yes_ and then we’re going to work our way down that list.”

“So confident, huh?”

“Hah. Like you can resist me.”

“Maybe, if you ask really nice, I’ll say yes. But you’re gonna have to work for it.”

There’s no witty response, only the steady, regular breathing of a man asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This thing has been sitting around refusing to develop plot, but also refusing to go away, and it didn't quite mesh up with any of the other WIPs to just be a chapter. So you get a vignette.


End file.
